


Bossuet's Lucky Day

by Marsbarss



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bossuet is bi, Bossuet's Terrible Luck, Doctor/patient ish, F/M, Joly is bi, M/M, Multi, Musichetta is only referenced though, Musichetta is probably straight?, Pining, Poor Bossuet, help him
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-27
Updated: 2018-06-27
Packaged: 2019-05-29 11:55:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15072617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marsbarss/pseuds/Marsbarss
Summary: Bossuet's day was going awfully. More than usual.He was determined to not let the day get to him. When he falls and splits his head open, he becomes the luckiest man on earth because damn the doctor is cute.In other words: How Bossuet and Joly met for the first time





	Bossuet's Lucky Day

On a scale of one to ten, Bossuet’s luck was probably a negative seven. Bossuet never really was bothered by this. He tried to see life with a positive view, and tried every day to fill his time with laughter and smiles. He figured he would live longer if he didn’t let his luck pull him down. So he was all smiles and sunshine, working to be kind and happy. However on this particular day, his luck was more accurately a negative seven hundred and dropping rapidly.

Bossuet noticed his particularly horrid luck on that day, when he awoke at noon to realise his alarm didn’t go off. His alarm had been set for six am, so that he would be up in time to get ready and be at work by eight. He really didn’t need to set it for so early but with the amount of mishaps that happened, he needed a few hours notice for anything and after the last four times he was late, he couldn’t afford another slip up. He would lose his job for sure and then how would he pay for his apartment and his tuition? 

Shitty as it was, he couldn’t afford better and it worked. (Barely, but he didn’t complain about the nonexistent A/C or heating) It was a barely large enough to qualify as an apartment and his bedroom was about as large as a broom closet. The kitchen was attached to a small living room and practically every time he used the oven, the carbon monoxide detectors went off(At least there were carbon monoxide detectors, that meant he probably wouldn’t die from carbon monoxide poisoning because in one of these old buildings that was a possibility). His bathroom was a horror scene, and so cramped the shower was just about over the toilet but it worked. Bossuet was glad he’d managed to keep a place to stay this long.

Bossuet opened his eyes to a bright room, illuminated by a sun that was clearly not appropriate for six am. It was a midday sun and seeming to sneer right in his face. The lack of cartoon-esque birds singing was another hint. He began to panic as he blinked into consciousness, shooting out of bed only for his foot to get caught and tangled in his sheets and well, bring him to the ground. Hard. The bald man groaned quietly against the carpet, sure his cheek now had rug burn. Reddened cheek aside, he needed to hurry. 

“Crap, I do not have time for this.” Dark eyes fell on the bedside table and the clock sitting atop it. Twelve o’ seven pm, fuck. That meant he would get to work at about twelve thirty, which was hours later. He didn’t even look at his phone, not wanting to check if he had missed calls or angry texts from his boss. Rushing, Bossuet scrambled to his feet and shoved on simple khaki pants and a blue button up shirt, no time to shower, before grabbing his wallet and running out the door. Bossuet stopped at the door and went back to his room for his shoes. He hurried once more.

Halfway down the stairs he came to a stop and threw a hand to his face in frustration.

“Shit!” Bossuet turned around, ran back up to his apartment, retrieved his keys and cellphone, then tore down the stairs once more. He nearly colided with the old lady who lived next door to him and proceeded to fall on his ass once he reached the bottom step, tailbone striking hard against the sturdy concrete and ankle buckling beneath him. That would hurt all day.

“Ow!”

There was little time to feel sorry for himself, no matter how much he already knew this day was going to suck. He simply put on a smile and picked himself up. He limped with all of his effort to his car with returned vigor(ish) to his steps. 

“Today will be good. Just a few bumps in the road.” He reassured himself and started the old beat up monstrosity that counted as his car. The paint was chipped, it had no air conditioning or heater, there was no CD player and the seats were held together by duct tape(as was one of the sideview mirrors). It was a piece of shit but it was his piece of shit and she hadn’t quit on him yet. Though he knew it was only a matter of time before he needed a new car. 

Pulling out of the parking lot was simple and had no complications. Bossuet turned on the radio, settled with a small smile on his face, and started down the road towards his workplace. The day was admittedly nice. The sky was a beautiful light blue without a cloud in sight, and the streets were free of much traffic. People around him seemed to be enjoying their day. Bossuet noticed a small child with ice cream, a happy couple, and a lovely old lady offering flowers to people. He loved the world, no matter how it seemed to curse him with horrible luck. He admired people and faced the day with youthful optimism.

It was an about fifteen minute drive to Bossuet’s work, a small diner where his shift was already halfway over. It was rather amazing Bossuet kept the job for the past seven months but now he was sure he’d be fired, especially since it was saturday and saturdays are always busy. His tuition needed paid somehow so he started making mental notes of every shop he passed with a ‘help wanted’ sign hanging in a window. 

This day was determined to test Bossuet’s limits.

Of course the route to his work was blocked by construction, and following the detour signs took him so far out of his way he wasn’t really sure how close he was. He’d been driving for about twenty minutes when he resigned to using google maps, which didn’t help at all. The AI sent him in the wrong direction, twice. 

Once Bossuet finally pulled into the small parking lot of the diner and parked, he hurried out and ran inside as fast as he could muster with a twisted ankle and aching ass from his earlier fall. He threw on his apron and nametag, nervously glancing around for his manager. 

His manager was a small but rather angry woman with a no nonsense way of going about things. She could practically smell his shame and failure the moment he walked in the door. Like a lion that smelled gazelle blood, she was on the move. Bossuet didn’t need to hear her approach or smell her light perfume. He could feel her wrath from where he stood and turned around to face her scowl. 

“Five hours late, Bossuet. Your excuse doesn’t matter. I need reliable employees.”

Bossuet shifted his gaze to the ground in shame. “I understand.”

“You’re fired, Laigle, collect your last check and have a good day.”

So, the day got worse and to Bossuet it seemed as if his luck had just dropped immeasurably. He had known this would happen but knowing and then having it actually happen are two different things. After picking up his last meager check, the unlucky fellow returned to his car and just...sat in the driver's seat for about ten minutes.

Bossuet stared ahead of him, at nothing in particular, vaguely registering the world around him. The idle chatter of a family exiting the diner roused him from his daze. Bossuet took a deep breath then smiled.

“It’s all right. That job was tiring anyway, and people don’t tip a clumsy waiter, I can find a better job.” He reassured himself heartily, and turned the key in the ignition...only. The car didn’t start. She gave a hopeless clicking sound for a few seconds and refused to start up, stubbornly proclaiming her retirement. Bossuet let his smile drop and tried to start his car again, and again, and again. No luck. He would try for a jumpstart, if the car weren’t smoking. That was bad. Bossuet pulled the keys out and stepped out of his car to inspect the engine. She was done for. He sighed and called a tow-truck and took a seat on the curb, fiddling with his keychain.

The tow-truck took a rather long time to arrive, and once the debacle of dealing with towing his old car was over, Bossuet started walking down the street towards his apartment, once again taking a mental note of any ‘help wanted signs’. 

The day was still pleasant though some clouds moved closer, light and fluffy, not yet encroaching on the sun’s rays. The sun was as obnoxious as Enjolras when he spoke of politics, shining bright and causing the male to pull out a pair of sunglasses. It was mid-June, and though rather warm outside, he didn’t mind. It was lovely weather that would hopefully last for a while. 

It took about five whole peaceful minutes for the day to try and tear down Bossuet’s smile once more. Bossuet tripped on well, nothing really. Bossuet was no stranger to falling, as it happened often due to his curse. He felt his foot catch on the previously mentioned nothing, and suddenly his entire weight bore down on the sidewalk. He tried to stop himself with his arms, only resulting in smashing one shoulder against the ground. When his full body met the ground, he managed to bang his head on the concrete with more force than he would have liked. He groaned, the world spinning. Was that red he saw? That looked like blood. Huh. Was it his? Yup. How about that. Bossuet was somewhat aware of a woman stopping with a loud gasp and coming to his aid. 

When Bossuet’s consciousness came in again he was being lifted by a pair of EMT’s. Was his fall really that bad? He guessed it was. Concussion probably, which would suck for the foreseeable future. His head needed stitches, was all he registered from what the EMT’s were saying, as well as something directed towards him. The world was swimming and he didn’t care to try and process it all. 

The next thing Bossuet was aware of was a very, very cute doctor stitching him up. The doctor was rather thin, and seemed short, with caramel brown hair that was cut short and seemingly attempted to be kept neat. The doctor’s hair was rather a mess however and it only added to his charm. He was clean shaven, pale, and young, probably barely out of med school. Fuck, he was beautiful. Bossuet smiled.

“Hey, Doc, uh do I have a concussion?”

The doctor seemed startled slightly, by the sudden speech and pulled back, “Yes, you took quite a fall apparently. I don’t know how you even managed it.”

Bossuet chuckled, which hurt, and regretted it. He noticed a few more things. Mainly that his arm was in a sling and that whatever painkiller he was on was wonderful. “That happens a lot. Lady Luck doesn’t favor me.”

The doctor gave a small chuckle and finished his job, smiling brightly at Bossuet.

“My name is Doctor Joly Bellamy, we’ll be holding you for a while longer to observe your condition so make yourself comfortable.”

Joly. Fitting, this doctor seemed like a ray of sunshine. The way his lips curled when he smiled, and oh god his dimples. He was the most amazing thing Bossuet had ever seen. He was immediately smitten. Isn’t that a cliche plot? Doctor and patient fall in love? Ah hell, who cares. Cliche plots be damned. He wanted this man’s number. 

“Name’s Bossuet. You’re cute,” The darker skinned man grinned, amazed by the boldness painkillers gave him. He watched the doctor try and conceal a blush and regain his composure after a moment of shock.

Joly smiled. “Maybe if you can get lady luck on your side long enough to let the painkillers wear off and be discharged, we can talk.” He would have to tell Musichetta about this man. Bossuet was handsome, and though he didn’t expect this flirting, he wasn’t complaining. This was good. He knew there was supposed to be professionalism but hey, once Bossuet was discharged all caution could be thrown to the wind. 

Bossuet meanwhile beamed at the doctor’s words, grinning so hard that if he wasn’t on painkillers, it would hurt. “Deal. I’ll try to appease her.”

“Good!” Joly scribbled his number onto a nearby notepad in his horrendous doctor’s handwriting, before smiling at Bossuet. “Duty calls, I still have a million other patients to see to it seems like.” The jolly doctor left the room.

Bossuet looked at the number scrawled on the notepad and grinned. All things considered, he thought this was a very lucky day.


End file.
